Dark Musings
by Raija Darknight
Summary: A more serious hurt
1. Cold stone underneath

COLD STONE UNDERNEATH  
  
I can see him, through the salty tracks running down my face into my eyes, soaking into my ragged clothes. Clothes torn from struggling, fighting, attacks.  
  
Pain, fiery burning all over me. Each muscle quivering and tensed in an effort to alleviate the pain. I can't relax; the pain grows worse. Sprawled on the floor, half curled into a ball, breath coming in shallow and quick. Whimpering softly as he watches.  
  
Cuts, shallow and long, trace my body, scarring the soft flesh, turning it red. Small burns, on my shoulders, from small fireballs that exploded slowly, like a glass cup falling and bursting gently. Screaming and thrashing, trying to stop it. It didn't. Not until he was satisfied. Satisfied he'd won, that I was in enough pain to sufficiently amuse him.  
  
I was alive. I would live. He knew that, made sure of it. I amuse him. I never begged, never acknowledged his position with anything other that sarcasm. I didn't fall to the floor on my knees. Not until I didn't have the strength or the will to keep standing, that is. I was unique to him, something interesting. A shiny bauble, to be played with.  
  
Breathing fast, trying to move. Arms and legs, broken and healed, refuse to move. He just stands there, staring. His eyes reveal slight pleasure, which only heightens when I manage a painful glare. Why should he enjoy this? I'm weak, robes and black hair matted with blood.  
  
Just standing there, black against black, his pale skin emphasizing his jet black eyes, with stars twinkling in them. Black hair waving silkily down to his neck.  
  
Why should I feel anything for him but hate? It's lust, I'm sure. Couldn't possibly be anything else. Couldn't be.  
  
Yet there's an intimacy in our relationship, something. A feeling I'm the only one he talks to, does anything to, and he has all the time in eternity to stay. Makes me feel it. His voice, whispering soft promises which turn to painful reality. Purring, gentle. Distant, icy and hard. Cold beyond cold beyond cold. Delicate fingers gently on me, relaxing for an instant. An instant before the pain starts.  
  
Looking at him, something flickers in his eyes, before disappearing swiftly. A white dove drowning and gasping for breath in a dark lake. Sympathy? Regret? Could he, a god, have such feelings? Possibly.  
  
Other times I see lust, coldly burning and analyzing, a sudden flash put out for show, something to terrify. It works, I never know with him, what he'll really do. He hasn't, but the thought of that.gives me something to be thankful for. Hard to be thankful know. Bleeding, with the world turning black and red, foggy. I want to sleep, to die, just be removed from this pain.  
  
Do I love him? I don't think so, but my inner feeling whisper, 'maybe'. Maybe if things had turned out differently. Maybe if they end differently. We both learn more of each other each time we meet. I actually learn something of him. Mortals and gods, victims and torturers. I stand up to him. I could don the white robes, be humble, subservient. But could I? No. I come back. Do I like the pain? No. Then why.  
Maybe because it's him. 


	2. Darkness watching above

This one is for Riven and Asriya! And I don't like Nuitari! Stop saying that! *Beats Asriya over the head with large fish*. Sorry Riven. Slight Solinari bashing!  
  
Cringing on the stones, blood pooling around her quivering form, I watched. Small, delicate, weak. A broken toy, her eyes slit to guard against the blood and tears. Pathetic.  
  
For a day and a night she was in my tender care. Subjected to some of my finest spells. Blood poured from the wounds I carved in her skin. Her screams, resounding on the walls, were almost a delight to listen to.  
  
Screaming, thrashing, spitting curses and useless spells…Eyes full of pain. And after that, after she'd slumped back, struggling weakly to rise, the fear came. Fear of what would come next. Yes. Raija knows me better than most, gods and mortals alike. We do spend so much time together. Others would think they couldn't suffer more, that there couldn't be more ways to suffer physical and mental pain. But she knows. Knows that I am imaginative. Knows if she spent an eternity, an eternity I have, with me I'd still think of new spells, new ways, to have fun.  
  
A broken toy, but not broken. Not in the sense I would have liked, what I have strived for. I'd hurt her when I'd caught her outside my tower, on the glassy stretch of moon. Sank my dagger deep in her side, the blackness drinking up the red and turning her world gray. Teleported to my room; cold, glassy floors with furniture and other devices rising up from the floor on my command. Such fun.  
  
But though she'd scream, cry, try to run or fight, she'd never beg. Flinching but not cringing. Wouldn't fall to her knees unless she couldn't support herself. Infuriating the way she kept that last barrier up. That pride. Never fully broken.  
  
There might be other ways to break her. I wouldn't mind using them. She's attractive by human standards, might even be beautiful. And other ways…pulling joints till they snapped out, and other disfiguring things. A pleasure ensured, yet I don't. Why? Do I respect her? Possibly, but that has never stopped me. Sympathy, I have none. Something then...Perhaps I like to keep the few things that can be entertaining and attractive at the same time.  
  
Humans and their emotions. They have so many, most of them useless. I am not human, yet as a god of them I do have their emotions. Cruelty, anger, indifference, these I keep. The rest…I have never felt them.  
  
Love? I barely know the word. Just the mortal's definition, "A deep tender feeling of affection." Dust. Useless and fake. No one has feelings like this. Perhaps the few 'good' people, as my cousin is telling me. Such a sentimental fool: he seems to have fallen in love with a mortal. A human. Only he could be so foolish. His behavior is disgusting, staring onto space, finding gifts for her, trying to talk to me of her beauty.  
  
Fool. He asks me of my own 'conquests'. Solinari should know there is nothing but the magic. And there should be nothing. No flowers or crystals or poems as he experiments with. I do take the time to have fun, but Raija's lifespan is short. So I make the most of it. I have eternity.  
  
I do not deny my feelings though. There is an…intimacy in our time together. I feel more comfortable when she is around, inane as that is. She's the kind of human that others can turn to for help and as someone to talk to. I…can talk to her. She obviously fears me, but there is little hate. For all the pain I have caused her, she feels no deep anger, no burning hatred. Odd. That word describes her well. I look at her. Unconscious now, twitching in her exhaustion and pain.  
  
She complimented my eyes once. A thought whispered in her mind, 'Beautiful eyes'. She would never say it out loud, never tell anyone. Raija thinks such thoughts are a waste of time. She flushed and glared when I thanked her for it. Embarrassed, so easy to humiliate.  
  
Will I miss these times when they are gone? Perhaps. I'll certainly be bored. No one like her will follow the dark path again. So I will enjoy myself. Perhaps let her enjoy herself as well. 


	3. Tied

The girl twists and screams as the needles hiss into her. When they're were firmly embedded, another 'click' is heard, and they gp blue and icy.

The tied girl lets out a small cry, gritting her teeth. The switch from intense heat to intense cold hat leaves a pulsing, burning, numb sensation. A few lone tracks creep down her face as she tries to relax it. Gritting of the teeth and biting of the lip had always been abhorrent to her.

It is dark, with faint outlines to form a dark figure that watches over. Dark, and another switch flipped on, and her mind and mouth screams at the blue lightening coursing over the wet leather cords. The unbreakable cords bite into her flesh as she arches her back, a piteous wail starting and stopping.

Two clicks, clicks that echo and swirl in the dark recesses of the moon, or was it in her mind?

How long had she been here, an hour, or weeks? Time sped past the brief times of relief, and slowed and dragged when the switches were on.

Click

Must have been an hour, as the needles draw out of her skin, slow and careful as a lover's caress. Biting back another sob, as cold icy air hit the wounds, sharp and cold and clear as a winter morning, when nothing moves or speaks.

And then a voice above, just as cold as the air and the morning, cold and soft and sibilant. She straines to focus on it. What did it say?

"Will today be the day I break you, the day you beg? I don't mind if this goes on, but you must be slightly unhappy."

That same voice, laughing with her, talking as they drank chocolate and played hide and seek. Now it observes, coldly, callously.

"You're really quite lovely, with blood on your pale skin and tears in your eyes. Pray I may keep my temptation in check"

Cold, observing, hinting. Is he lying? Why would he do it? Why would he not? That same voice, counseling her, consoling her, teasing her, now saying, "

I wonder why I bother to restrain myself..."

Does she actually hear it? Or is it another trick of her mind, dizzied and dazed with pain and her own screaming...

Click

Flame, dark in color, dark that should signify coolness, comfort. It is not. Hot and searing, and no way to block it; her magic is drained.

Wet leather once cold against her skin, drying and tightening, harder and harder. All over her body the ropes constrict, tightening like a snake around its prey. A short scream, as the cords around her ankles and wrists tighten, and the barbed spikes on the inside bite.

Bite, as the flame bites, close to her skin, but not touching. The presence of fire making her skin heat and burn without the slightest touch.

Like him.

His presence, which makes her burn inside and out, but never touching, so like the flame, something to be respected, feared, but never to touch. If touched...who knows what it is to touch the very heart of fire? Pleasure? Pain? With this flame, probably both, one after the other, and then used again and again and again.

Click

Flames die out, leaving the cords to dig into her skin. He circles the table, she can see him watching, see the stars gleam in his eyes. Cold, distant.

"So helpless...and innocent in your own way."

Innocent? Her?

"Perhaps not innocent...but delightful. Your mind is a pleasure, and I'm sure your body would do the same."

Blush? Is she blushing at a time like this? Still, comforting to know she has enough blood for it to be possible.

"The body can be...distracting, you know."

Yes...all too well.

"Try not to scream too much."

That might be possible. If she screams any more something in her throat will surely rupture. Crack Blood flies from her mouth as a fist slams into her stomach. Pain, lack of air, and relief all mix into a swirl of black and red spots, swimming before her. He senses it.

"One day you will beg, and I will."

She shakes her head. She isn't going to beg. Multiple tries have left this conclusion; something just won't let her. At times she wouldn't mind ending it all. Like now.

"No?"

He misunderstands. Cold fingers trace her rips, stopping and resting on the top ones. Cool, real, calming and soft.

Crack. Snap

Screams.

Blood and coughs.

She stares at her chest, which has uneven ridges pushing through the shredded vest. Pain lances through her. Breathing constricts her chest even more, and it burns inside her to inhale. She watches, eyes squinted in pain, as his hand curls around hers.

Sitting on the edge of the table, his bring her limp hand to his lips. A thrill of something-not pain, not pleasure-shoots through her. And then she knows what he'll do, and tries to close her eyes, but something won't let her. Makes her watch as he carefully holds her hand, each slow backward bend, as he turns his head and smiles.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

Screaming, horrible sharp pain PAIN. Worse every time he does this. Tears are blurring her vision again, in a steady stream down her face. Eyes closes, still crying out, sensing him move to the other side.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack. Crack.

The world spins on itself. The pain is consuming, but try as she might, she can't get herself to pass out. Her fingers are fixed in unnatural positions, each center of pain blurring into two wide circles that spread outward through her arms and mind.

Snap.

Eyes fly open again. She felt her wrist bones grind together that time, right before they snapped like dry twigs. Sharp biting consuming. Never- ending.

"Why?"

She can't speak, can't give him a questioning look, not like this.

"Why do you come back?"

Pleasure evident in his voice, is that a tinge of regret, just like the other night? She gives a vague shrug, which is nearly impossible, with the tight cords all over her, spreading and trapping like a spider web. It's not the answer he's looking for.

Pop. Pop.

This is interesting. It hurts, but it's a different kind. Not sharp, not exactly. It thrums in her dislocated shoulder; thrums in her bones, makes moving seem an obscenity. Something comes from her mouth, blood and words.

"I don't know."

After all, how would she know? It's not that she liked the way this felt, the ever-consuming pain that left only a portion of her mind to think rationally. And that portion, only sane because some of the pain was partitioned away, walled behind a wall in her head, something she had created. All the pain, and a good deal of her emotions as well. That voice again, bringing her back.

"I don't know either."

Suddenly angry, blurring on top of the table, staring coldly down at her, their faces about half a foot apart. Hands carefully placed on her shoulders, pressing hard, making her squirm and whimper. Body lowered onto her stomach and ribs, causing blood to erupt from her mouth with a flood of cursing and red.

"Why don't I kill you, rape you, forget you? Why can't I?"

Mind too dizzy, but she can see the knowledge she's gaining in these few seconds. Can't forget her? Perhaps they're more alike than possible. Hard to breath with his weight on her, rasping for air.

"Why can't I forget you, leave you, -"

Her mind catches up to what she was about to say, and she shuts her mouth hard. Idiot. She can feel herself fading away, slightly, mind blurring.

Looking up blearily.

Black eyes stare down at her, penetrating and cold.

"What were you saying?"

She shakes her head. A dead hope, a last hope. Nothing in his eyes, nothing in his feelings.

"Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. N-"

A taste of cold fingers on her skin brings her back to reality. Has his gaze softened? Does he know she's going insane, slowly, like a poison being dripped through her skin? His eyes are beautiful, stars in the night, the only source of light in this dark world.

"Thank you."

A knowing smile. Damn again.

Click.

Stinging, burning, something eating away her feet. She struggles to see, to raise her head, even as she starts to scream again. Her feet are normal, but something is there. She can feel it, wet and cutting and eating her away. More screams, as the substance covers all over her feet. The world is spinning again, and she struggles for control. Of course, thinks her brain as silver fog starts to cover it.

Acid.

"Quiet now..."

Quiet?! As the acid crawls up her legs? She can feel her skin burning off and healing at the same times, so it could go on and on and no damage would be done. She screams again, continuous and higher than usual.

It's at her stomach now, and she screams as fast as she takes in the air. The world is spinning again, faster and faster, and then goes black very suddenly. She sinks down, mind asleep even as her body continues to thrash and wails erupt from her mouth.


	4. Dark

Alright! It's been a year and then some. But I have updated! So hah! Hah on you! Thanks for emailing and reviewing. You really got me working…even if it took a long time. Thank you.

Erm…I'll probably clean this up at some point. But I NEED to put something up. Hope none of you have to seek therapy again…but this is pretty tame.

Everything was dark.

The contents of the mug were a dark red, and sometimes, depending on how the cup was turned, a flash of dully shining crimson lit the surface: a flare of garnets, or perhaps the gleam shadowed blood.

The wood of the table was dark. The varnished wood suffered the flickers of light and shadow to play across its surface, chasing back and forth in a game that would last as long as the fire.

The fire was a mass of gleaming red embers, burning sullenly, swamped by the gloom. Occasionally a flame would leap from the pile, searching desperately for something to consume. There was nothing but the smoke-laden air, and the single thread of fire would flicker, curl in on itself, and retreat back to its bed.

She sat in the chair, feet shifting against the soft surface. Her body still ached, a deep, pulsing hurt that thrummed against her insides, like the incessant beating of a drum. Sometimes a crash of cymbals would resound from deep inside, and her back would stiffen, fingers clenching around her cup as her mouth swallowed an unsteady gasp.

Lifting the cup, she gulped the hot liquid. The mulled wine sank through her chest, curled in her stomach, then oozed outwards. Warmth radiated through her, and the pain dulled. Her head fell back against the chair, and she closed her eyes.

Now she could feel his gaze. It prickled on her skin, sending involuntary twitches through her shoulders. A sob rose in her throat, expelled into her mouth, and wheezed out.

It hurt.

There had been a time when she thought it would never happen. There had been boundaries, gossamer-thin, true, but they had still existed. And now…what was she left with? Crescents of blood on her back and hips? A wound that, even when there was no trace of it, still pounded with remembered pain?

"What do I have now?"

The darkness under her eyelids held no answers, nor did the soft crackling of the fire. Silence enfolded her. From the chair on the other side of the fire came the soft noises of fabrics being slid over each other. She did not open her eyes as footsteps approached her. If she looked into that face she would…

What would she do?

Scream? No, her throat was sore enough. Besides, she had screamed half the night away under his ministrations. There was no need for more noise.

Fight? To what end? She had tried it, fought with every fleck of power she possessed, and it had accomplished nothing but a few extra bruises and wrists raw from manacles tightened in anger.

Cry? No, again no. All her emotions and reactions were spent. She floated on a mental expanse of nothingness. All fight and will were gone, driven out by pain and fear.

Cool hands touched her face, tilting her head upwards. She felt the pull and complied, but did not open her eyes. Whatever her reaction was, she did not want to know it.

"What do you have now? The same as you had before, save a little skin and blood. Your mind is overwhelmed, but untouched. The turmoil in your heart will cease, and you will feel again. Your soul bleeds black despair, but it cannot flow forever. Nothing can be taken from you if you choose not to give it." His voice was quiet, and the words passed though her ears and landed somewhere inside, and she felt their impact.

She opened her eyes and looked into his.


End file.
